The Devil Plays all the Best Tunes
by loki-laufeyson-of-asgard
Summary: Tony Stark wakes up with Loki Laufeyson next to him in bed... well, what would you have done?


The first thing that Tony is aware of when he wakes up is the sensation of a sleep-heavy arm on his side. For a second he wonders 'what chick has enough weight to hold me down like that?' and then he becomes aware of how sore his ass is and how the inside of his mouth tastes like a combination of stale whiskey, sleep, and semen—not a pleasant taste, mind you—and he realizes he's gone to bed with another man.

He chuckles to himself, very quietly. He hasn't been to bed with another guy in years, not since Rhodey, but that was in college, and he was twenty then, and drunk, and cock-sure of himself, and…

Oh. Well, nothing's changed, except his age, but he's only fifteen years older now, and it's okay, because he's not forty yet, still young, still plenty of time to screw and be screwed and fix it later when the first gray hairs appear at his temples. He rolls over to see who he fucked last night and is more than a little surprised because it's Loki lying next to him.

Loki, the Asgardian god, six foot two and pale as fuck, lean and sinewy, is in his bed. Loki, who caused the defenestration of Tony Stark, who has serious issues with his adoptive family—not like Tony blames him really, because Odin is sort of a dick and he can relate, being Howard's son and all—who hates all the Avengers, who blew up one-third of New York City and tried to take over Earth with some weird alien race and got muzzled up and taken back to Asgard, all in one afternoon, _that _Loki is in his bed. And maybe the fact that this is the same guy who threw him from a window thirty stories up from the ground should be an issue, but for some reason all it does is intrigue Tony.

He has always had a mind for puzzles.

The headache coming on is an indication that Loki probably got him drunk before he got into his bed, which is why he can't remember anything—although now that he thinks about it, he does have a vague recollection of some sort of magic-induced orgasm that lasted a full minute and a half and knocked all five senses out of him for a bit. He kind of wants to wake the god up and ask him what's going on, but the longer they lie there, the more he stares at him and realizes that hey, Loki's not that bad looking.

Oh sure, he realized it before, but it's kind of hard to concentrate on someone's physical attributes when they're blowing up Times Square. So he focuses on it now, and he's stunned by the angles of Loki's face, the hollows below his sharp cheekbones, the dark circles under his eyes, the cut of his jaw. In sleep, he looks vulnerable, and it's startling because Tony's never seen him like this, and without really thinking, he reaches out and brushes a loose strand of hair back from his face. Loki's hair is soft, not greasy like it looks, and Tony wants to play with it some more, but the movement has caused him to wake up, moss-emerald eyes focused directly on Tony's face. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Morning, Stark," he says, like this is a normal occurrence for them, like they wake up hung over and sex-tired every morning together.

"Loki," says Tony cautiously. "Care to enlighten me on what exactly the fuck happened here?"

The god's smirk widens slightly and he pulls the sheets free from where they were twisted around their waists. Both men are very much naked, and Tony notes with some pride that there are several bruises—coupled with teeth marks—covering Loki's hips.

"It seems pretty obvious to me," he says. "And it was pretty obvious to you, too… last night, anyway."

"Yeah," says Tony as calmly as he can. "I'm aware of that. But I mean… why are you here? With me?"

A brief flash of… _something _crosses Loki's face and it occurs to Tony that he should probably try as hard as he possibly can to remember what happened last night if he values his life. But then it's gone again and Loki's wearing that mask and without saying anything he leans in and bites the sensitive skin near the arc reactor, and Tony's gasp is more of a moan, breathed out between slightly clenched teeth because Loki's fucking _chewing _his skin now and damn if he's not going to have a bruise there later.

"Loki," he says, "much as I appreciate you… uh… marking me—" because that silver tongue is trailing down his stomach now, and he's lifting Tony's cock with his long fingers and making it really, _really _hard to concentrate, "—I think… you need to stop… because…" His voice trails off as his brain fails to come up with anything appropriate, but Loki, whose mouth had just begun to make its way down to perform fellatio on the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, stops, and looks up, and there's something in his eyes which Tony cannot identify but which he vaguely recognizes, and it's not anything good.

"Because you can't be caught with a supervillain Jotun-born Aesir blowing you before noon, because my so-called _brother _would have your head and we all know how much everyone values his opinions over mine." He pushes himself off the bed, and Tony feels a rush of cold air on his body. "I get it, Stark. It's fine." He's pulling on his clothes now—skintight leather pants and an emerald green shirt that buttons up and oh _god _but it's sexy—and smoothing his hair back, and he won't look at the mortal lying on the bed because Midgardians aren't worth his time, anyway, it was just a quick fuck, and it's over now.

Another flash of memory crosses Tony's brain now—he'd been fighting with Steve again, because Steve thinks he's too reckless with his health, but Anthony Edward Stark doesn't take life lessons from anyone except maybe Pepper, and he'd gone to the bar to cool off. Loki had been there, because he'd been fighting with Thor—something about returning to Asgard and speaking to Odin and Frigga—and they'd had a drink together, because misery needs company. Except one drink had turned into two, and then two into three, and by the time Tony was well and truly drunk, he'd failed to notice that Loki had stopped a long time ago, or that they were talking about some heavy shit, like how their fathers were assholes and how they both had abandonment issues, or that they were sitting less than an inch from each other… and then they'd kissed. _God_, they'd kissed, and Loki had transported them back to Tony's place and now… here they are.

Or rather, Tony thinks he's about to be the only one here, and for some reason he doesn't want that. He sits up. "Loki," he says.

The god pauses, halfway to the door, but doesn't turn. "Stark."

"Maybe you should stay," says Tony, because even though he sort of has a vague feeling he knows what could be going on here, he's not ready to think about that just yet, and so he's not going to bother explaining why he wanted Loki to stop in the middle of oral sex.

Tony doesn't do feelings well unless he's drunk, after all.

But Loki's turning now, and Tony calls, "JARVIS, could you order breakfast and have it sent up here?"

"Yes, sir," JARVIS replies. "For both you and Mr. Laufeyson, I'm assuming?"

A raised eyebrow at Loki, who just sighs heavily. "Fine, Stark," he says, and does a first-rate job of hiding the—what is that, relief?—in his voice. "I'll stay for breakfast. That's _it_."

Tony grins and gets up, reaching down to grab the pair of boxers he must have tossed to the side last night during the throes of passion. "Perfect," he says. "Come sit next to me again, Reindeer Games. We can talk about that magical orgasm you gave me last night. Maybe even recreate it before breakfast comes here."

Loki rolls his eyes and fights the smile threatening to burst from the corners of his lips as he unbuttons his shirt again and walks back to sit beside Tony.


End file.
